


We Suck At This

by ArmsShanks



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, canon junkers, just like some real sappy shit, valentines day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 05:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13674894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmsShanks/pseuds/ArmsShanks
Summary: Junkrat comes up with dumb plans. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don't.Roadhog is always two steps behind.





	We Suck At This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scrunchles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/gifts).



It’s another blistering hot day in the outback as Roadhog speeds down non-existent roads, rust-hued dirt flying up behind the bike. The hog’s sidecar is empty today for the admittedly shocking fact that its usual occupant has elected to stay at home for this run.

Not that Roadhog particularly blames him - a visit to the next nearest settlement with supplies besides Junkertown is a hell of a ride and the younger man is still bitching about the one that it took to get them back here. ‘Here’ being home.

It’s been a couple weeks since Junkrat blew their cover trying to get back into Junkertown for a bit of ill-conceived revenge. They’ll find another way in, of course they will, but Junkrat shockingly admitted to maybe needing a day off. He cedes that a break from the constant travel and trauma would help get his head on straight before coming up with The Plan: Part 2.

It is nice to be back home though, even Roadhog has to admit, despite hating what it has become. He missed the heat baking on his bare arms and it sure is nice to not have to worry about traffic lights or pedestrians. He didn’t miss the weird, unearthly feeling that hangs in the air. is hindbrain recognized as lingering radiation and he sighs, knowing they’ll have to make a plan that eventually ends in them leaving Oz for good.

He isn’t quite sure what plans for the future are running around in his partner’s scatterbrain, but Mako will insist on something that gets them out of here. He has no interest in watching either of them lose any more of their health to this hellscape. The boy is an absolute wreck as it is and Roadhog grits his teeth at the idea of him getting any worse.

Roadhog doesn’t have much of a care beyond that; he isn’t a future kind of guy anymore. He’s long since accepted that he’s stuck with the little shit going forward and he can’t imagine his existence anymore without the man and all his crazy. Hell, the voice that always yapped away from his sidecar is now grating in its absence rather than its presence. A business partnership with an idiot had turned into a plain old partnership with an ally somewhere in between the revenge plot, the money and the sex. It was a collaboration that didn’t show signs of being over any time soon.

His gloved hands’ grip on the handlebars tightens as he observes himself overthinking; this is what he gets for travelling without his white noise machine.

At least he reaches the settlement relatively quickly without the usual distractions. He fills up on fuel, water and rations with a handful of ill-gotten gold coins the dirty store attendant gawps at him for. In the morning, he’d left before the sun was even up so he should make it home just before nightfall.

A cold drink and a warm body sound nice, he thinks, getting back on the hog. If Junkrat hasn’t destroyed the place by then. Only a few more hours of glorious, maddening silence to go.

 

\---

 

By the time Roadhog pulls up to the farm, all thoughts of a pleasant evening are replaced by just wanting to nap. With a huff, he lifts himself off of the bike, joints creaking. He grabs the great jugs of water and sacks of supplies and drags them up the crooked wooden steps. He’s about to drop one of them to reach for the door when it swings open inwardly.

“G’day!”

Junkrat’s twiggy self is waiting for him at the threshold like an over-eager puppy. Roadhog grunts, ignoring him but to immediately muscle by to drop his load inside the door. Junkrat squawks, affronted. “What’s yer problem, ya big bastard?”

“Heavy,” Roadhog grunts. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, taking in the state of the place for a moment.

Wait, what?

There are an absolute mess of candles around their normally dingy and cavernous space. Given how much of the place is wood and how poor Junkrat’s self control is when it comes to  anything with a flame, he immediately glares at the man through his mask’s lenses. “You tryin’ to burn the place down? What the hell, ‘Rat?”

“I was careful!” His voice is high. “They’re just lil tea lights, see?” He picks up one with deft fingers and hoists it in front of the pig-snout of a mask. “Seems impractical for actually makin’ tea, but I thought they’d work. And they came in a bag ‘o a hundred! Maybe I got carried away eheh…” Junkrat trails off, setting the miniature candle down on a nearby workbench and turning back to Roadhog with a strained grin.

“Work for… what?” Roadhog’s nose scrunches; even from behind the mask he can smell something… off. “What you been burnin’?”

“I ain’t been burnin’ nothin’!” Junkrat says indignantly, stomping his peg leg on the floor of the barn. “They’re for… the, uh… the atmosphere?”

That stops Roadhog short. “The fuck do you mean, atmosphere?” he growls.

“Y’know…” Junkrat’s shoulders hunch but he waves his hand around vaguely. “Atmosphere.”

“I know I smell somethin’...”

“That’s cuz I made us some dinner! I didn’t use the tealights. I used the oven and… a recipe? Found it on the tablet. For that uhh… smoked salmon thing you liked. Back in France. Or was it uhh, the Americas? Obviously I didn’t have ALL the ingredients but I did my best! The fish I got kinda… looks salmon. Ish. I think it works.” Junkrat stops yammering enough to beam up at him, gold teeth glinting in the light of those obnoxious candles, though he looks uncharacteristically nervous. His flesh hand fiddles between the fingers of his metal limb, as if he’s trying to keep the jitters at bay.

_Okay, what the actual fuck is going on here?_ Roadhog eyes him a little closer. The glasses in his mask are a little cloudy but there is definitely something subtly… off about Junkrat. He realizes that Junkrat looks almost, well, clean. Not the kind of clean he obtains post-forced bath in a hotel, but it is something. His skin’s free enough of soot that his rarely appearing freckles are showing, and his face and shoulders look scrubbed-raw pink. He must have tried to clean himself off with a towel and a bit of water.

“Th….ooought you might be hungry? With the long trip. ‘N all.” Junkrat reaches prime fidgeting under Roadhog’s obvious scruntity.

It suddenly occurs to Roadhog that Junkrat is trying to be nice to him.

“...Okay.” Roadhog replies at length, slowly unclipping the straps of his armor. Junkrat seems to normalize, unfurling enough to hobble to the kitchen area and mess with whatever he’s been messing with. _Fish?_ He lifts the bottom of his mask just enough to get a better sniff. Okay, he can smell the fish now. He isn’t sure it smells like _edible_ fish though, let alone smoked salmon.

After he’s less burdened by Roadhog’s trappings, something a bit more like Mako walks up to their tiny excuse for a kitchen table (also covered in tealights) and carefully picks up their tablet. It’s a gift from a friend they made abroad, and it links to the internet via some satellite communication that neither of them quite care enough to understand. He intends to take a peek at whatever recipe Rat’s been butchering but he spares a glance at the time first. 8:32 PM, February 14th.

Wait, February 14th? Valentines day?

_Is he…_

“Roadie! It’s gonna get cold! Wait, is smoked salmon supposed to be cold, shit I forgot-” Junkrat has turned back and stops short when he sees Roadhog holding the tablet. He’s by his side at a flash, batting the tablet out of his large hands. Roadhog is too bewildered to fight him on it as Rat tosses the device to the side, laughter even more high-pitched than usual. “Come on then, big guy!” Junkrat grabs his hand, which forces him to notice how small the man’s hand is in comparison; it’s almost comical. Junkrat’s nails are painted a fresh coat of polish and before he knows it, Roadhog is being tugged along by his finger up stairs lined with tea lights and it’s almost… atmospheric.

They end up on their small balcony at a table where there isn’t usually one. It looks like Junkrat’s covered it in an old sheet to look like a restaurant tablecloth and the closest thing they have to proper dishes are sitting atop it. More lights line the table and balcony (how did he not notice when he drove in?) and he sits in the chair he’s guided to in mechanical confusion.

“Lovely, lovely. Brilliant.” Junkrat’s muttering to himself in that way that Roadhog knows isn’t meant to be heard by anyone outside of his own head. The man looks, frankly, a bit astonished that he’s managed to get Roadhog up here and takes a seat opposite him across the table.

A warm breeze carrying the clashing scent of sun-baked sand and incoming rain combine with the vaguely fishy meal sitting in front of him. It’s kind of a nice feeling, just existing in the space for a reason other than necessity and sitting across from his partner. The man is looking at him expectantly, gaunt face appearing just a bit softer in the night with cast-yellow highlights from the candles. Meeting his gaze, Roadhog feels put rather on the spot.

“This is… nice...” he manages not to add a question mark as he forces out a response to Junkrat’s imploring face. He lights up like a damn bulb at that. Roadhog tries to keep his sigh quiet at giving the younger man too much.

Suddenly a handful of stringy chaos is thrust in his face. He grabs them before they can be dropped onto his plate, which he has been stalwartly avoiding looking at. Long thin steel coils and miniature rubber tubes support a mess of thin, aluminum… flowers? They appear to be made out of old soda cans as the exteriors are a shiny red and blue with cut-off logos intermixing with the design.

“Couldn’t find any real ones worth lookin’ at out here, so I made my own!” Junkrat grins with shark’s teeth but his gaze is nervous and piercing. Roadhog grunts at the offering. The things are actually a little impressive; Junkrat could probably do fantastic work with a blowtorch and sheet metal just in the name of art, if he had much of a care to. There isn’t much use in wasting supplies in this world though.

Hog is probably supposed to say something. Shit. Junkrat’s grin is faltering and Roadhog can hear his knee jumping under the table and thumping unsubtly against the floor. He moves his much larger boot over and gently rests it on Junkrat’s toes.

The smaller man squeaks and tries to cover it up with a cough. Roadhog holds the ‘flowers’ awkwardly until Junkrat gets the hint and scrambles downstairs for another cup and Roadhog places the synthetic stems inside it. The display finds its way to the centre of the table.

“Well, bone appetite!” Junkrat chirps and grabs his fork clumsily. He doesn’t make use of it though as again, that damned orange stare is back on Roadhog, waiting and watching.

It looks like he can delay it no longer. He looks down to the plate and sees… yep, it sure looks like fish. It’s sitting on some toast and it appears to be seasoned with something or other. Roadhog looks back to Junkrat’s face and wonders if this is how he dies as he picks up his fork.

_Why am I doing this._ He knows why and it makes his ears heat up. He feels like he’s on a really slow, really long roller coaster ride where he can’t see the drop. He pushes his mask half up so he can shove a mouthful of this disaster into his mouth before he can put too much thought into it.

It’s… not _terrible?_

It’s definitely not salmon and he’s not sure the extent of the smoking but Junkrat must have actually followed a recipe at some level of competency. He raises an eyebrow that Junkrat can’t see. After a moment of chewing, he takes another bite.

Junkrat trills in excitement and he immediately tries to muffle it in his hand and he quickly turns to attack his own plate.

They eat in silence for a moment and it’s crushingly domestic in a way that their usual snacks on the run aren’t. The meal tastes less good as the shock wears off that it’s not literal trash and he really hopes that it’s not going to give him botulism or salmonella or something. Junkrat twirls his fork in his hand and speaks with food in his mouth.

“So how was the trip?”

“Fine,” Roadhog intones.                                                         

“Missed me?” Junkrat says with a grin.

“Yeah.”

Roadhog’s so concentrated on trying to finish the rest of the meal before he gags that he answers with the truth reflexively. He has now put himself into the position of having to watch Junkrat completely miss his mouth with his awkwardly-wielded fork and the fishy mess only gets vaguely near his lips. “Really?”  
  
He gives something between a shrug and a grunt, not willing to dignify that with a response, but Junkrat doesn’t seem to mind as he wipes his cheek off with the back of his hand. He looks like he’s in a daze with unfocused eyes and a stupid toothy grin.

God, Mako knows the kid has a thing for even slight positive reinforcement but that was a little ridiculous.

They finish up. Mako burps and it tastes foul. He winces and downs the taste with a can of beer.

“Ah, I got just the thing for dessert! Hang on a tick.”

Junkrat tears out of his chair and back into the barn and Roadhog heaves a great sigh through his filters. How did he get here? He is a fifty year old man whose twenty-seven year old radiation-addled partner in crime is trying to treat him to a Valentine's Day date. He’d say this was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever experienced but a week ago he’d dressed up like a pirate to try and sneak a gold-laden payload of explosives to blow up a self-proclaimed monarch in the desert.

Before he can bemoan his lot in life any further, Junkrat’s _ka-thunk ka-thunk_ gait is back and he’s shoving yet another foreign item into Roadhog’s unsuspecting hands.

It’s a red box with a garish pink ribbon around it and Roadhog stares. He doesn’t need to look to know that Junkrat is staring at him expectantly yet again, and he bites yet another bullet. The ribbon comes away easily and inside the box is a a series of other little boxes. They loudly pronounce their quality of chocolate. Baker’s chocolate.

It starts out low but  his laugh turns into a booming, deep sound that echoes across the barren landscape around them and off the walls of the barn. Junkrat blinks in confusion; he even leans over and peers into the box to make sure the contents haven’t somehow changed.

“Wot? Wot is it? Roadie, what’s the deal!?”

Junkrat has forgotten his strange reverence for Roadhog’s personal space today and he practically crawls up Roadhog’s arms demanding an answer.

“I thought ya liked sweets, what the fuck, ya pig!?”

Roadhog fights down his mirth as he decides to be awful. He opens one of the thin little boxes. The stuff is wrapped in tin foil that he brushes aside to snap off a piece of the chocolate. He holds it out to Junkrat, just in front of his face, and the twitching man stops short. He glares up at Roadhog suspiciously. Roadhog responds by nudging the piece a little closer to his mouth.

Junkrat’s expression softens for just a fraction while staring up at the leather mask, and he gives in and bites. It takes just one movement of his jaw before Junkrat is hissing and spitting the mush onto the deck, gagging.

Roadhog explodes with laughter again, shaking as his gravelly voice catches in a deep wheeze.  “It’s baker’s chocolate, dumbass,” He finally gets out. “You add other things to it to make it into normal chocolate for eating. On its own it tastes like cardboard.”

“But it said one hundred percent cocoa! That’s means pure chocolate!” Junkrat grabs the opened bar from Roadhog’s hands and glares at it before tossing it off the balcony furiously. “Fuckin’ liars!”

“Moron.” Roadhog chuckles and pushes Junkrat’s head out of his space. He shoves the box aside and stretches, legs creaking. At least he got a good laugh out of this whole mess. He groans and maneuvers himself around Junkrat and back down the candlelit stairs - many of them have gone out by now. He approaches his bed at last.

“Whatcha doin’?” Junkrat says loudly from the door.

“What’s it look like? ‘M tired.”

“Boring old man!”

“Yes.”

Roadhog is hooking up his old gas pipe to his mask and settling in and he hears Junkrat grumbling and scrabbling around in the background. Ugh. He’s not going to get any sleep with the kid in a mood. “You can join me if you want.”

Junkrat doesn’t immediately scramble over, which is a new one, but after a couple moments of Junkrat noises, a scrawny body plops down on the bed beside him. Roadhog waits for the inevitable approach of a wandering hand and the press of heat at his back; he has half a mind to indulge him if he tries. It doesn’t come.

Whatever. Sleep is fine.

 

\---

 

It lasts maybe a couple hours.

Roadhog resents that he has developed such a keen sense for when something is off with his partner that it wakes him in the middle of the night. He hasn’t been flailed upon or groped or subjected to sleep talk and it has him on edge.

He sighs with annoyance and rolls over only to be met with a yelp. He catches Junkrat laying flat out on his back on the bed, arms crossed over his chest.

“What are you doing?”

“Fuckin’, lyin’ in bed, ya drongo. What’s it look like?” Junkrat has a catch in his voice and Roadhog recognizes his own line being mocked from earlier. He stares back, glassy lenses pointed towards the younger man. He tilts his head.

“What!?” Junkrat snarls, shoulders up defensively.

“You’re actin’ weird.”

Junkrat seems almost taken aback but he sneers deeply, nose scrunching. “‘M always weird.”

“Weirder than usual.”

“Well what’s it to ya?”

Roadhog doesn’t have an answer to that one. He huffs and settles back down on his three-quarters of the bed and tries to go back to sleep.

He can’t. Junkrat sounds weird. He’s breathing funny and he’s not fidgeting. He’s not snoring or twitching or doing any of his Junkrat things.

God. _Damnit_.

He unhooks his mask from the pipe and sits up suddenly. Junkrat jolts beside him as he looks the man over yet again.

Junkrat looks like… was he crying? No... that was dumb. Worried? It’s impossible to tell in the dark, but it’s different enough from the man’s usual countenance that he feels some level of… concern. He’ll call it concern.

They freeze in a silent stalemate. Junkrat glares back as if defying Roadhog to comment. It stretches out. _You should say something_ , says a voice in Roadhog’s head that sounds suspiciously like Mako Rutledge. _Why?_ Roadhog grumbles stubbornly back.

Junkrat kicks him in the leg. Roadhog is too stunned from being knocked out of his reverie to react before Junkrat rolls out of bed and stomps off with footsteps louder than his lean frame should be able to supply.

A minute later, when he hears an explosion, Roadhog lets out a sigh so long it turns into a groan, and resigns himself to following after the idiot.

Junkrat is only throwing explosives off the cliff by the barn, which is a bit of a relief. Roadhog grabs his arm anyway as he raises it to throw another. He shrieks at the contact.

“Let go a me!”

“You want everyone Junkertown to know we’re here? Again?”

“Like you give a shit!”

“The fuck’s your problem, Rat? You get off on acting like a brat?”

“I dunno mate, you get off on actin’ like a piece of shit!?”

Junkrat’s shrill screech stands in stark contrast to Roadhog’s threatening growl. The shorter man radiates a hatred Roadhog has to admit he hasn’t seen for a long time in their partnership, but just as Roadhog is about to rethink his approach, Junkrat deflates.

“Let go of me.”

Roadhog releases his wrist and Junkrat tosses the frag he’d been holding back into his supply bag. He takes a seat on the cliff, mismatched legs dangling off the edge.

Roadhog again feels like he’s on the top of a roller coaster’s precipice, but instead of apprehension he’s filled with… guilt. It tastes sour on his tongue and it’s not the aftereffect of the earlier meal. Something pushes him though, maybe it’s the hunch in Junkrat’s defeated shoulders, maybe it’s the warmth of home, but he takes a seat beside the smaller man, looking out across the outback.

“Go away,” Junkrat says, voice unusually small.

Roadhog doesn’t. It’s a difficult thing, admitting to care about someone, even in his head. Rat doesn’t make a habit of getting _this_ worked up about something without real reason and for once Roadhog feels has to decide if he values his partnership more than his silence.

The desert is quiet. Heat radiates from the ground, leftover from a long day of baking in the sun. Nostalgia twists in his gut for the ruinous flats that make up his old home. He doesn’t know why they’re here. He doesn’t know why they bothered to come back. This shouldn’t hurt, but it does, and he thinks it has to do with the one person keeping him afloat.

Teeth-grating contemplation melts into a sigh, and someone somewhere between Mako and Roadhog forces himself to speak again.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Rat stiffens in the languid breeze.

“Please.”

It takes a moment before Junkrat finds his voice again. “You know I’ve had those chocolates since Prague?”

_Chocolates? What- o_ h. The baker’s chocolate. Prague was… three months ago? What the fuck?

“You been carryin’ around baker’s chocolate for three months,” Roadhog deadpans. Junkrat’s lips rise in a snarl but it’s more subdued than his usual theatrics.

“Yeah. I fuckin’ did. And you laughed at me. So thanks.”

Junkrat’s voice is bitter and Roadhog shifts awkwardly. “It was pretty funny.”

Junkrat glares at him in a terribly silly, petulant way. Roadhog hides his expression behind his stone-faced behind his mask and decides it’s best to change the subject. “Why did you keep chocolate for three months?”

“For valentines day, ya daft fuckin’ pig.”

Junkrat confirms what Roadhog has been trying to ignore since he caught sight of the date on the tablet. It makes him soften. “Not like you to care about capitalist holiday, ‘Rat.” He puts forth a peace offering in the form of tousling Junkrat’s hair. The younger man tries very hard not to look pleased by the motion.

“Wot!? T’ain’t capitalist! I read it was about like-” Junkrat’s face screws up. “Like, that it was a thing you did. If you were like...”

Junkrat seems like he’s at a loss for words for the first time Roadhog can remember. “Partners?” He supplies gently.

“More ‘n that!” Junkrat jumps on the statement. “Supposed to be about… fuckin’, love! Or some shit!”

What the fuck, _love?_ Roadhog doesn’t know whether to laugh or… he’s not sure what. He ends up just staring.

Junkrat seems to realize he’s said something inappropriate, and his hand twitches towards his mouth as if to cover it, but then he instead slams his fist into the dirt. “And I fuckin’ read all this shit and went and tried to make a nice ‘date’” - he accentuates the word with air quotes - “like the internet said and got the flowers and made food and cleaned up ‘n did all the shit you like. And you didn’t say _SHIT_.”

Junkrat’s voice echos like one of his explosions in the night, though considerably more high pitched. Roadhog stews in his words, but Junkrat won’t let him for long.

“Yeah, say nothin’ again, you’re really fuckin’ good at tha-”

“Were you trying to... profess...?”

“Wot?”

Roadhog sighs. He’s going to have to say the words. Words he doesn’t even know what he thinks of. “Were you trying to confess romantic feelings. To me.”

Junkrat takes a moment, and for that moment it’s quiet again. Roadhog is starting to really hate quiet. Junkrat gnaws on his lip, and Roadhog can practically see the gears turning in his head as he debates.

“Yeah. Yeah I think so.”

Abruptly, Junkrat pushes himself to his feet and shoves his hands in his pockets. He turns back to the barn, but doesn’t head in. Roadhog hears the door close to the shed that Junkrat typically worked in, and where he used to stay when they first met.

Now Roadhog is alone, sitting on the edge of a cliff like an idiot. “Well, shit.” He mutters, letting a long breath out of his filters.

Now what the fuck is he supposed to do about this.

 

\---

 

He sits there for some time, and the stars turn slowly overhead. A sickly grey-green haze of clouds eventually rolls over and covers them, and he worries they might be in for a rare rain.

Three months.

Junkrat had been planning this stupid stunt for three months. For three months, Jamison Fawkes, the mad bomber, his partner in crime, had been planning this grand declaration of feelings. Waiting, specifically, for the date that the world had told him it was normal to do so on. Hell, he could have been planning even longer.

Roadhog’s response had been to laugh, then barely address his partner’s distress, then let him storm off while Roadhog was busy sitting outside with his ass getting sore and trying really _really_ hard to avoid digging in to how he thought about this turn of events.

_If I don’t move, maybe I won’t have to deal with this._

Mako doesn’t know whether to laugh or curse at Roadhog. Roadhog is inclined to agree.

He sighs again, louder. _Fine_. Time to unpack some bullshit.

Junkrat loves him.

The fact alone seems suspicious; does Junkrat even know what love _is?_ For all he knows it’s just a statement synonymous with people who have sex - society seems to want to think of it that way an awful lot. That didn’t make much sense though. They were already having sex, and Junkrat was certainly treating this as something different. Something more substantial.

It’s at this very moment that Roadhog realizes that the weird feeling he’s been plagued with for the last couple hours is fear.

It’s ridiculous. He hasn’t been afraid of anything since he donned his mask and name. The idea that a man nearly half his age who can’t even remember what he ate for breakfast or clean himself _loves_ him is stupid, full stop.

Somehow though, the fact still scares him. _Terrifies_ him.

Thoughts of what Junkrat would do when Roadhog tries to let him down are shoved aside by the pesky voice of Mako. _What if we loved him back?_

That isn’t a thought he wants to have, but now there it is right out in the open for consideration. There’s a part of him that’s furious for thinking in two minds; Mako is supposed to be dead, but there are some very Mako-like thoughts creeping in. He’s not insane. He did this to himself to _keep_ his sanity. It’s been different since Junkrat though, as much as he’s avoided acknowledging it. Life has turned into a little bit more than just surviving and fighting ever since he started thinking of the younger man as a person and not a dollar sign.

Did that mean _love_ though?

Love is….weird. It’s a cliche. It’s something that gets you into trouble and thinking irrationally. Love is also about sharing and partnership, which is something they are fairly efficient at. It also is supposed to come with communication however, which is not his strong suit.

_Obviously_ , snarks Mako.

_Isn’t it something you’re supposed to just feel, though?_ Roadhog posits, playing along with his own thoughts. _I don’t think love is something you’re supposed to debate yourself about._

_Junkrat doesn’t care about ‘supposed to’s._ Mako rolls his eyes. _And neither do we?_

_Fine. Let’s debate._

He makes a list in his head. It is titled: Facts That Might Imply I Love Junkrat. He calls himself stupid between every other line.

_We fight well together._

_We have similar goals._

_I mostly like spending time with him._

_Unusually enthusiastic sex._

_He makes me laugh. Sometimes._

_I like how he looks. Even though he looks like shit. Grown on me?_

_Makes plans that are fun even when they don’t work._

_I miss him when he’s gone. It’s too quiet._

_I would be less happy if he wasn’t around._

_I wouldn’t know what to do if he left._

_I’d be upset if he left. I’d want to know why. Why would he want to be alone? It would probably be because he found someone else. That’s stupid though? No one would be better for him than me. He likes me. He thinks I’m attractive. I protect him and actually give a shit about his safety when he clearly doesn’t. I’d track his dumbass down and show him I was better-_

He stops himself when he realizes his hands are clenched into fists.

_Fine._

Okay, so maybe he loves Junkrat.

He pushes his mask up enough to run a sweaty hand over his forehead. A soft “ _fuck_ ,” is uttered into the night air.

 

\---

 

Roadhog feels ridiculous as he knocks on the door to his own shed.

“Rack off,” a cracking voice calls from inside. Roadhog sighs. He knocks again. He honestly can’t remember the last time he knocked on a door instead of breaking it off its hinges let alone the one on his own fucking shed. This is stupid.

“I’m TRYIN’ to SLEEP.”

Knock knock.

“NggGN!”

A dishevelled Junkrat appears at the door, flinging it open. His eyes are tinged red, noticeable even in the low light of three in the morning, and he looks like utter shit with his hair a wreck and shorts dangerously low on his hips. Roadhog is disgusted by how adorable he finds it.

“Wot the FUCK do you-”

Roadhog shoves a meaty fist towards Junkrat. In it are a few dry stalks of what could only generously be called plant life. It’s mostly some long-suffering grass and what might have once been a flower. Junkrat blinks. He sizes up the fistfull of yellowing greenery for a moment before his eyes slowly look up at Roadhog’s mask. “E..eh?”

“Will you…” he inwardly rolls his eyes as he says the words, “be my valentine?”

Junkrat’s expression morphs slowly from a tired stretched and pointed caricature of a human face into the fucking sun. Then, predictably, he bursts out laughing like a hyena.

Roadhog sighs loudly and lets his arm drop. He knew this was fucking stupid.

“You cheeky fuckin’- really, mate?”

Roadhog grunts noncommittally.

“Gonna take more ‘n some weeds to get back in _my_ good graces.” Junkrat is visibly struggling to rein in his delight.

“Don’t have any chocolates,” Roadhog draws out in monotone.

“That’s roight. Because ya don’t plan ahead. Like me.”

“Sure.”

“Well then?” Junkrat crosses his arms in an exaggerated huff and attempts to look down at him from his position roughly one foot below. His mirth is falling away and back into the terse uncertainty of their earlier conversation.

“How about an apology,” something like Mako finds his voice and forces out the words.

Junkrat cocks an eyebrow.

“Sorry I laughed. Sorry I didn’t react right away. Sorry it’s hard for me to put things into words.”

It’s the closest thing to regret he’s ever aired in front of Junkrat and he feels suddenly naked under the younger man’s scrutiny. Junkrat looks caught somewhere between confused and suspicious and Roadhog doesn’t blame him.

“Did you really mean it?” Roadhog has to ask first.  


“Mean wot?”

“That you… ‘loved’ me.” Roadhog air-quotes lamely, aping Junkrat’s earlier maneuver. “Or wanted to. Or… whatever that was.”

Junkrat’s shoulders hunch. “Well, yeah. You’re me best mate. And I thought first maybe it was just wantin’ to root. And that was good. Really good. But I felt like I was missin’... somethin’ else? And I realized I wouldn’t… I don’t know what I’d do… err, eh… I guess I can’t imagine bein’ without your big dumb ass and I’d do anythin’ for ya. Even without the bangin’, and the money, and the way you blow people’s heads off. And I think that’s what love is supposed’ ta be.”

The spoken thoughts, scattered though they are, are a little too close to Roadhog’s own mental list for comfort, but it makes him feel something strange and needy in his chest.

Junkrat draws himself back up quickly, shaking his head and taking a deep breath through his nose. “An’ I realize now maybe that weren’t the best way to ask ya, I just thought… maybe ya’d like somethin’... romantic. Ya like all that cute shit so I was like, ‘is this valentines hooplah cute?’ And the yaw-hoo answers were sayin’ yeah.”

_Oh god why._

“But I guess ya don’t. Unless,” Junkrat gestures to the mockery of flowers drooping limply in Roadhog’s hand and there’s something akin to hope in his eyes as he looks up at Roadhog’s mask. “Ehn?”

Forming every word was like pulling a new tooth, but Roadhog egged on by Mako endures to speak. “Needed some time to think. Not somethin’ I ever considered before. Wouldn’ta thought you would want that, with someone like me. Or anyone. Didn’t know how to feel about it. Tried to think about feeling. Decided I felt something. So yeah.”

Junkrat tilts his head slightly, waiting patiently for Roadhog to sift through the foreign art of speaking his mind. He’s picking at his nails though and nervous all over again, like he was earlier today surrounded by candlelight.

“I can try it. If you want me to. Can’t say I won’t fuck up. I’m not wired for it anymor-”

“Do ya love me, Mako?” Junkrat’s voice cuts him off, strained but firm, expectant and scared all at once. His expression is soft and a hint of moonlight through the clouds shows off his scrubbed-clean freckles and searching eyes.

He asks Mako, but it’s Roadhog who says “yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Valentines trade thang for Silly! Prompt was canon junkers first valentines. Of course I made it super sappy because hey. It's me. Hope you enjoyed. <3


End file.
